


Like The Tide

by JackalopingIntoTheVoid



Category: Halo (Video Games) & Related Fandoms
Genre: F/M, Rating May Change, Tags May Change, Warnings May Change
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-23
Updated: 2019-07-27
Packaged: 2020-07-12 09:30:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19943938
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JackalopingIntoTheVoid/pseuds/JackalopingIntoTheVoid
Summary: 30 Day OTP Challenge for Halo, as done by... a bunch of us lmao. Each day will bring a new prompt though there's no guarantee I'll be able to fill them all. I'm certainly going to try!It started with two children and a lake.





	1. Meeting

John scowled at the sandcastle he was building. The sandy beach surrounding the lake was a common place for him to go and play when he wasn’t at school and his rennies were busy. (Renny, he knew, was short for ‘parent’ and grown-ups looked very impressed when he told them he knew that.) His rennies tried not to be busy, but sometimes rennies just had to do things, and it sucked.

School sucked too. Learning new things was great, but everyone else took _so long_ to remember what they were being told, and the classes dragged painfully slowly, going over and over and _over_ the same things. It wasn’t John’s fault that he got bored waiting for everyone else to figure things out, what was he supposed to do? And then when the teacher decided he was being ‘disruptive’ he got put in the corner, which meant he couldn’t even draw on anything because his pencils were on the table.

And the other kids were mean, anyway. They didn’t like that John always got the answer right, or that he always won at games in the playground. But at least they actually _played_ with him when he bugged them enough. Outside of school they never came to the green space (and good riddance) but it just left John with another few hours of _nothing to do._

There were only so many sand castles he could build before he got bored again. If Papa was playing with him they’d gather up seashells and make little flags and dig moats, but doing that by himself made him want to kick and whine because it just wasn’t _fun_ without Papa. It was just _more boring things_ so what was the point in doing them?

He ended up kicking and stomping all his stupid little bucket sand castles. He felt a little bit better doing that, but went back to being bored and upset afterwards because his sand castles were gone and there was still nothing to do!

Turning around, John squinted through bright sunlight, hoping to see Mommy coming over the sand dune (sandy hills by lakes were called sand dunes) to play with him, or ask if he wanted a snack, or say ‘we’ve got a surprise for you!’ and lead him off somewhere _exciting!_

But Mommy wasn’t there, and he stomped his feet because his sand castles were flattened already and the sand dune was all the way over _there_.

So he stomped over to his bucket and kicked that instead, and told himself he was sniffling because it _needed doing_ , like how his rennies just had things that _needed doing_ that were more important than John, and when things like sniffling needed doing they just had to be done, and it definitely wasn’t because he was all by himself again. John was _just fine thank you_ being all by himself, and he didn’t want to cry because his rennies loved him more than all the stars in all the skies except when things _needed doing_.

And John was so very busy being _just fine thank you_ that he didn’t notice another kid coming up behind him until they patted him on the arm.

He gasped just a little bit (but not much) and turned around very quickly, to see someone about his age next to him. They were shorter than John, like the kids at school were, and had very dark hair like Mommy’s and skin that was pinkish next to John’s brown.

“Are you crying?” They asked, and he put on his very angriest scowl to scare them away.

“No!” He said, as loudly as possible, so they’d know he definitely wasn’t crying and was much too big and scary to be picked on.

Their eyebrows pinched together, like Papa’s did when John wasn’t feeling well, or Mommy’s when the teachers said he was ‘disruptive’. “So you’re not sad?”

“No.” He said again. “I’m just fine thank you.”

The kid thought that over, then smiled. “Okay! Do you want to play?”

And that was really weird, John thought, because people didn’t ask him that anymore. Biting his lip and shuffling his feet, he blurted, “I’ll win.”

The kid’s eyebrows pinched again. “How do you know?”

“I always win.” He answered, and it was true.

“Mmmmm… well, okay. So long as you win fair and square.”

“I don’t cheat! I’m just better at things!” (He’d heard it all before.)

The kid nodded sagely, strands of hair falling out of their pigtails. “Winning fair and square is good.”

John nodded as well, feeling much better, because they were right. Winning _was_ good, and John should be told that he was good for winning instead of being told off for being ‘disruptive’ and ‘not playing nice’.

“I’m really good at it!” He enthused.

“Are you good at running?” They asked.

“I’m the best!” He answered.

"Okay!” They said again, and John was starting to like the sound of it. “Let’s ruuuuuuuuuunnnnn… over that hill and then back to the bucket!”

“That’s a sand dune.” John told them, “because it’s sandy and next to a lake.”

“Really?”

“Yeah!”

The kid had a big smile and looked very impressed, then pointed like an action hero. “To the sand dune!”

And they ran all the way up and over the sand dune, then all the way back over it and down to the bucket, and John was faster and definitely won but sort of skidded in the sand and fell over. The kid didn't laugh even a little bit and declared him the Best Runner Ever, and then said they should make sand castles next, and John thought sand castles would be much more fun when he wasn’t all by himself.

The kid was Parisa, and they were a she, which she told him straight away because they were friends now. John told her he was John and a he, and that he’d never had a friend before, and she did a big gasp like he’d jumped out from hiding to scare her.

“That’s not allowed!” She said, “Everyone has to have at least one friend!”

“And now I do!” He replied, and felt like he could run up and down the sand dunes five hundred million times.

He didn’t though, because Mommy was calling him for lunch time, and he put on his very angriest scowl because he’d _just_ made a friend and Mommy was being disruptive.

He put his hands on his hips like Mommy did when she got a call from the teacher, but Mommy only raised an eyebrow at him before smiling at Parisa and coming down the sand dunes to say hello.

“This is my friend,” He told her proudly, and Mommy’s smile looked as big as John’s felt.

“Would you like to have lunch with us, John’s friend?” She asked, the way her words came out different to a lot of people’s in the city. But he liked it.

Parisa clapped and said, “Yes, yes please!” but then went, “Oh, I have to ask if I’m allowed.” But she bounced on her toes and said, “But I bet Renny will let me when they hear John’s the Best Runner Ever!”

And John started bouncing too, and giggling a little bit, because not only was he the Best Runner Ever but his friend Parisa wanted to tell her Renny about it too, and it wasn’t something he’d get in trouble over!

“Alright,” said Mommy, “let’s go and ask together.”

And John knew he wasn’t supposed to run ahead, but Parisa started running ahead first. How was he supposed to show her Renny that he was the Best Runner Ever if she beat him there?


	2. Realisation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two old soldiers and something new.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Parisa refers to the Chief with they/them pronouns because her upbringing on Eridanus-II taught her to use neutral pronouns until/unless the other person specifies other pronouns. It's a politeness thing akin to Japanese honorifics.

Parisa had been proud to be a First Lieutenant. She’d worked hard and fought hard and _earned_ it. If she survived to retirement with that rank she was sure she’d be an insufferable old braggart for the rest of her life over it, reminding all the whippersnappers that she was a First Lieutenant in the UNSC Marine Corp. during the war, didn’t you know?

Somehow, giving it up gave her only more pride.

 _Spartan Tehrani_.

Looking back on those first few months, she felt a little silly for being so proud. She was far from the only person chosen after all; but she always remembered the terrible strength and quiet dignity of the first Spartan she’d had the honour of meeting. To follow the example they set in New Mombasa, even in a way that felt divorced from them, was bound to get to her. She was the sentimental sort, after all.

So imagine her shock when they turned up yet again.

It always made Parisa smile at nothing whenever she remembered getting gently tapped on the arm by a very severe-faced stranger. She’d taken one look at the resolve in their eyes and assumed she was about to be asked on a date (and frankly she might have said yes depending on how they worded it; they were a ruggedly good-looking sort beneath the shockingly pale granite).

They’d hesitated, then said, “I suppose you’re not a Lieutenant anymore.”

And she’d gasped in delight at the distinctive voice, cried, “It’s you!” and immediately given them a hug. Then they had _really_ seemed to turn to granite. Whoops.

She’d been trying to keep the touching to a minimum in the face of the Chief’s obvious discomfort, but sometimes she couldn’t help herself. Parisa was a touchy-feely sort of friend, and she’d been really enjoying spending time with the Chief. They seemed to be around every now and then after getting stationed on Infinity, and when she commented on the coincidence of them bumping into each other so often on a 3 mile long ship they’d quirked a brief smile and said, “I’ve been told I’m lucky.”

But it definitely wasn’t luck that landed Parisa flat on her back for the sixth time in a row during their sparring match.

Winded, sore, a little dazed, she stayed there for a few seconds, catching her breath. Chief leaned over her, faint concern in the crease of their brow. “You sure you’re alright?”

“Yeah. Just breathing.” She laughed a little. “You sure know how to wear a girl out.”

A shadow passed over their face, but it went as quickly as it came. “We can stop.”

Taking another few breaths, and really starting to feel all her bruises, Parisa conceded. “Might need a break, yeah.” She couldn’t help but smile though, wanting to lighten their heavy brow. “You are officially the Best At Sparring.”

They blinked owlishly, then pressed their lips tight together; their nostrils flared as they made a little _pfffrrk_ noise and ducked their head almost sheepishly, supressing their mirth.

Beaming widely, Parisa graciously accepted this unprecedented victory in stunned silence.

Then stuck a hand in the air, wiggling her open fingers.

There was a shy sort of amusement playing at the corners of the Chief’s mouth as they reached down to effortlessly pull her all the way up to her feet– and she should have expected that single smooth motion, but she didn’t, and her leg muscles protested–

Their chest was very warm, very solid, and only slightly sweaty. And that slight sweatiness was very much not a problem.

As usual, being close to someone like this only made Parisa want to lean in and take a nap. _They don’t like that, you’re making them uncomfortable_ she told herself, but her body wasn’t cooperating. Maybe she should have let Chief talk her out of further sparring the last time they flattened her… or the time before…

Hands. Big, warm, rough hands, gently pressing against her back and hip. Supporting her against their body. That was… really nice.

Part of her wanted to stick with her original plan of not foisting physical contact the Chief didn’t want on them, but they were choosing to do this. There was nothing awkward about how they supported her; just gentle. Then they adjusted their hold, and it was less gentle and more solid. A little more arm involved– more of an actual hug.

An actual hug.

_I’m being hugged by the Master Chief._

Taking a risk, Parisa turned her head so that her cheek was pressed against their (sculpted) pectoral. Immediately, her vision was all but filled by those pale blue eyes, staring right at her like a child caught being naughty. Why did they look so shy, so guilty? Surely they knew by now that she loved a good cuddle?

She smiled, trying to reassure them, and slid her own arms up and around their broad back. A tiny, sharp inhale from the Chief– their eyes never wavering from hers.

She squeezed them, and their eyelids fluttered closed, a soft sigh ghosting across her ear and strands of her hair that had pulled loose. Parisa squeezed again, firmer this time, and caught a very small noise that Chief swallowed as soon as it started. But they reciprocated, suddenly enveloping her in their bulk and squeezing firmly.

They made another soft little noise, eyelashes dark against their scarred (and freckled?) cheek. Entranced by this new softness in their face, her eyes traced the prominent cheekbone down to that faintly stubbled jaw, only for her attention to be caught by their slightly parted lips. Full lips, that looked invitingly soft despite the slight intrusion of scar tissue, and she wondered how the contrast would feel against her own.

… Oh.

Chief’s head nodded slightly as the usually rock-like muscles in their neck and shoulders relaxed, dipping just low enough to brush against her hair. She could smell their skin, and it was… enticing.

Shit.

She gave them another squeeze, then a couple pats on the back to signal it was time to end the embrace. A signal that was missed completely– they squeezed her back but stayed where they were, this time not bothering to even try and stop the sound that slipped from their throat, and pressed their forehead into her hair.

Parisa wanted to stay in their arms forever, but she also wanted to pull back far enough that she could kiss them senseless.

Oh, fuck.


	3. The Reveal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just a simple question. Yes or no.

She wasn’t sure how to go about it.

She didn’t want it to be too casual or offhand, in case it went over his head or was taken as a joke (curse their playful flirty banter!) but just thinking about some grand gesture made her cringe. He liked things quiet, private– she’d have to come up with something appropriately meaningful that wouldn’t spook him.

But she couldn’t wait any longer. He was deploying again all too soon, and she’d been sitting on her feelings for too long already. It was ironic; Parisa had spent weeks resisting the urge to give the Chief a good long hug, and now it seemed they were in each other’s arms more often than not she was too tangled up in her desire to do… _other_ things to enjoy it.

Typical.

_Just ask him out_ , was the advice D’Orsey had given her, _what’s the worst that could happen? He’ll say no? Best to nip it in the bud now before you let the ifs and maybes dig your heart into its own grave._

Parisa had dismissed it at the time, but the more she thought about it the more solid it seemed. Chief was a straightforward sort of guy, and if she went straight in with a basic yes-or-no question then he could say ‘yes’ or ‘no’ and that would be the end of it. Simple and clean. Just so long as she wasn’t too dramatic about her feelings, treat it like an option she wanted to pursue… yes, that might work.

And it was a good thing she came to that conclusion when she did, because he was right around the next corner.

“Oh!” She jumped, and Chief looked apologetic. “Oh, no, it’s okay– you’re just the person I wanted to see.”

That made him smile one of those sweet little smiles of his, and respond, “You don’t look too bad yourself.”

_Curse their playful flirty banter!_

Parisa giggled without meaning to, trying not to ogle all those lovely freckles that had shown up once they’d started spending time together in Memorial Park, then shook her head. Focus! “I was wondering, actually… do you want to go on a date with me?”

There. Out with it. Simple and clean.

Chief blinked owlishly, as he always did when she baffled him, then tilted his head like a confused puppy. “A date?”

“Yeah! Nothing big, just like. Picnic in the Park, or something like that. If you want.”

He looked off to the side slightly, like he was distracted. Or thinking? Was he considering it? Oh, God, she’d made him uncomfortable again. There’d be no more cuddling–

“Don’t…” He still seemed unfocused, and spoke slowly, as if unsure. “ _couples_ … go on dates?”

Oh, that was new. Chief wasn’t one to pause when he spoke. Before, absolutely, but it gave her the impression that he was mulling over what to say first. He sounded now like he hadn’t started figuring out what to say until he’d already opened his mouth, and she had no idea what that meant.

The way he said the word ‘couples’, though– well, it hadn’t gone over his head, at least.

“They do, yeah.” Parisa was sweating. Why was she sweating? This wasn’t that big a deal, just a yes or no question, and didn’t require a shot of adrenaline! Fuck her limbic system.

“Are… we…?” He focused back on her, at least. But she still couldn’t read the cause behind the hesitancy, and it wasn’t helping her calm down any. “A couple…?”

Well, Chief definitely didn’t sound _happy_. Damn it, damn it, damn it! She’d made it weird!

“Not if you don’t want to be, obviously!” Oh she sounded nervous, that was bad. _Reel it in Tehrani! You’re a Spartan for Christ’s sakes!_ “I just thought it was something we could, uh, try out, if- if you wanted to try it?”

Simple and clean had fallen through, and she was utterly failing to be casual. Why did she ever listen to D'Orsey!?

“You…” There was a new note in his voice, something soft and incredulous. “You want us to be a couple?”

Biting the bullet, she said, “Yeah.” She took a steadying breath. “Do you?”

_There_ was the characteristic silence. Coupled with the awkwardly intense staring, it was much more familiar, and Parisa relaxed enough to shrug. Casual. Not a big deal.

Chief’s throat bobbed as he swallowed, and she dragged her eyes away from it. “I don’t know. I’ve never been on a date.” He had that distant (distracted? thoughtful?) look on his face again. “How is a picnic different on a date?”

“Only one way to find out!” Parisa chirped, and immediately wanted to space herself.

But Chief made one of his amused little huffing noises and said, “Alright,” in a somewhat bemused voice.

Grinning breathlessly, Parisa thought it was the most beautiful thing she’d ever heard.


	4. First Date

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Uncharted territory.

John was on a date.

He knew what a picnic was, and had felt fairly confident he could eat in the Atrium with Parisa while simultaneously figuring out what it meant that this picnic was a date, and what to do with that information.

He had sorely overestimated himself.

For one, the Atrium wasn’t exactly a secluded space, and servicefolk aboard the _Infinity_ were pretty good at telling on-sight that he was a Spartan-II, even if they didn’t necessarily know it was _him_. A Spartan-II having a picnic was enough reason to stare.

For another, John was so unfamiliar with people expressing romantic interest that he found himself analysing Parisa’s behaviour and microexpressions rather than relaxing and enjoying their time together.

In theory, that analysis should have been interesting and informative, and would allow him to broaden his ‘vocabulary’; which in turn would eliminate unnecessary confusion when observing or interacting with other people.

What was actually happening was _more confusion_ , as Parisa’s body language and microexpressions were consistent with what he usually saw from her. Which left John with two potential hypotheses.

Either this being a date did not entail a significant change in demeanour…

Or any date-relevant, romantically-coded expressions had been going on for at least a month.

John… didn’t know what to do with that information. Her behaviour was familiar but all previous context for his understanding had been invalidated. It was like he’d been airdropped into familiar territory, only to find out he was behind enemy lines. He was scrambling to adapt but hadn’t seen anything out of the ordinary, had nothing to adapt _to_ , and no previous experience or standard procedure to fall back on.

“Hey,” Parisa’s voice interrupted his thoughts, equal parts amused and concerned. “You looked pretty far away there. Where’d you go?”

“Nowhere important.” He answered, and scooped himself some more potato salad. “This is good.”

She grinned then, bright and mischievous as usual. It heartened him to see that spark still burning, undiminished, undimmed. “Only the best for my man of the hour.”

She was teasing– she might have been teasing. It might have been a flirtatious advance. What was the favourable response to a flirtatious advance? Did he _want_ to respond favourably? He didn’t want to respond _un_ favourably, he valued their friendship and… was _curious_ about romantic relationships, he had to admit. He never had been before, except in a fleeting and detached sort of way, but meeting Parisa again had him thinking about it.

He’d promised to marry her once, and he couldn’t have really known what marriage entailed when he made that promise. He wished he could summon that innocent surety now.

John wanted to ask for clarification. He wanted to admit to Parisa that he had no baseline for date behaviour, and that not knowing made him overthink. He wanted to tell her that he had no intention of backing out, he just needed more intel to proceed. If they were going to do this, he wanted to do it right.

He shovelled in a mouthful of potato salad and said nothing.


	5. Reminder

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The distance between.

There was a new weight alongside his dogtags now. Not a heavy weight, barely noticeable. She had bought it, after their quiet date, and given it to him before he deployed. He didn’t have the right words to express his opinion, to describe it adequately, but before he got his armour on he kept sneaking it out to look at it.

_Wolves!_ Had been his first thought on seeing it, the second being _yin and yang_. The sun and moon, as well, were the opposing spots, being lunged for by the wolves– a lot going on for such a simple, tiny image.

Parisa had happily talked about all the symbolism, the theme of opposition and balance, from the night and day parallel to the old story about having two wolves fighting inside you. John had happily listened, and not mentioned the tale she didn’t seem to know.

“It’s not much,” she’d blustered, embarrassed, as if she hadn’t just given him a gift, “but you can take it with you. Something to remember me by.”

She spoke like they might not see each other again, and he was torn between a cold, sharp aversion to the thought and a deep, swelling appreciation for the gesture. (He had nothing to remember his Spartans by, nothing he could hold in his hand or see with his eyes.)

He’d taken the keyring gladly, and thanked her plainly. She’d smiled, but it wasn’t her bright, starburst smile. He missed it.

But then she’d pulled out the photo.

His stomach dropped, as it had the first time he saw it, saw a little dark-haired girl and a slightly bigger freckled boy laughing next to a lake, hand in hand.

“Maybe I can send a little of John’s protection with you.” She’d said softly, sadly, and he had bitten down on the things she didn’t know.

Now, he stepped away from the Brokkr, a new weight about his neck, no one but him aware of Fenrir’s sons hidden beneath the Mjolnir, and choked down the bitter irony.


End file.
